XBooksPrologue
by Leen713
Summary: First part of a longer story. Prologue is quick retelling of end of X2 (a progression from the POV of each character) so please don't read if you haven't seen the movie. Complete, Please Review!
1. Prologue1

Author's Note:   This is my first time posting fan fiction, so please review.  

Prologue 1:

_Across the world, people fell to their knees in pain._

_First, the mutants, others like himself._

_Then all other human beings, all falling in agony as he reached out with his mind.  _

_Finding each one…_

_Focusing on them…_

_Fighting them…_

_Killing them…_

_God forgive him.  _

_And God forgive me._

_Had I known how powerful they were all becoming, I would have intervened long ago.  _

_Mutants…a hundred years ago, the gifted did not have a name._

_Five hundred years ago, they were 'witches,' many unjustly accused of wicked deeds._

_A thousand years ago, they were demons and angels._

_Five thousand years ago, they were 'gods.'_

_All that time, and it still amazes me how quickly the world can change..._

_...and how much it has remained the same._

_I fear for my family.  The family I have protected for so long._

_Generations, traced back for the long millennia of my existence._

_Now, in danger of annihilation…_

_I only hope I can protect them from their own future._

_ Mutation._

_The key to our evolution.___

_It has helped us change from a primitive, wandering species into a kaleidoscope of cultures and technologies I could have never imagined in the era I was born._

_And, for all of my thousands of years, I never knew how dramatically evolution could leap forward..._

_I pray we survive to see where evolution intends to take us._


	2. ProfessorXavier

Prologue 2:

            Beneath the cold waters of Alkalai Lake, Professor Charles Xavier was lost in a waking dream.  He had no clear concept of exactly why he was sitting in Cerebro, only that his children were lost, and he had to find them.

            The little girl with the strangely colored eyes stood next to him quietly.  Her earlier tears had dried and she now waited patiently for Xavier to place the controlling helmet on his head.

            "Are we going to find our friends now?" she asked in soft, but strangely powerful voice.  Xavier smiled warmly at her, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused.

            "Yes, Cerebro will help us find them..."

            The little girl did not return his smile, simply stared coldly forward.

            "Find them," she said, "Find all of them...all the mutants..."

            Xavier did not respond as Cerebro roared to life around him.  He simply did what the child asked.  She needed his help, and he did not intend to abandon her. 

            "Find them..." her voice echoed in his ears and in his mind.

"Find them all..."

_Find them..._

"Find all the mutants..."

_Every last one..._

"Find them..."

_Find them all..._

"All the mutants...find them..."

_Find them..._

"Find them..."

_Kill them..._

"Kill them all..."


	3. Logan

Prologue 3:

            Logan staggered across the darkening laboratory, grinding his teeth in pain as his multiple wounds began to heal.  He breathed heavily, forcing his legs to move forward, away from the water-filled tank that had so frequently invaded his dreams.

After so many years, he found himself in that nightmare world, not a vague memory, but a reality he could no longer deny.

            Each step was easier, quicker as the wounds on his back and his chest disappeared, the fading pain replaced by a powerful, unforgiving rage.

            With an effort, Logan looked back at the tank viciously.  It was the same in his memories, identical in every way, except for the body that now lay below the surface of the water.  It did not float, as the human body naturally would.  Instead, the body had sunk, due to the excess adamantium Logan had injected into her abdomen.

            From where he stood, Logan could still see the silvery tears running down her cheeks, now solidified, the end of a life permanently stained by the indestructible metal.

            Logan forced his eyes away from the dead woman, a sickening guilt threatening to overwhelm him.  He knew he would regret her death until the day he died.

            No matter how vicious an opponent she had been, her motives had not been her own.  Her eyes had been blank as she attacked him, lifeless, a slave to the man who had made her what she was.  The same man who had stolen Logan life; he had made both of them into killers.

            _Damn you, Striker,_ Logan thought, an involuntary growl rising from his throat, _This__ time you didn't steal a life... this time you had _me_ to take it from her..._

            Logan clenched his fists and marched forward, grinding the adamantium blades inside his hands against the metal-plated bones of his fingers.  He silently cursed his 'claws', his mind filled with the many lives that had fallen at their edges, and he knew he regretted more than the death of the woman behind him.

            Yet now, he stood in ready anticipation to take one more life.

            Logan sniffed the lab's dank air...and caught Striker's scent.

***      

            Logan marched forward briskly, until a blinding pain exploded in this mind.  He stumbled and cried out, the unexpected attack tearing through him violently.

            The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced.  No blade or bullet had ever rendered him so completely helpless.  

            He gripped his head, grinding his fingers against his skull, an instinctive attempt to defend himself against his unseen attacker.  The adamantium that lined his bones strained against his body's powerful ability to heal, his natural gifts suddenly fighting to push the unnatural metal out.

            Logan's claws extended and retracted, tearing the soft flesh between his fingers.  The wounds did not heal, and blood ran down his hands and along the blades.

His senses fluxuated, strengthening and weakening, as his mind was torn apart.

            His eyes were wide, suddenly seeing everything around him with a strange new clarity.  The light was unbearable, colors roaring to life, shadows fading away...

After a moment, his vision faded, and he realized he could smell everything in the world around him.  He smelled the lab, the old metal and dank water.  He could smell the water of the lake, the snow outside, the panic and fear of those in the base...

Then that sense also faded, and he began to hear beyond any level he had before.  The strain of the old dam against the water, the hum of machinery, the pounding of his heart... and the cries of children rising above it all...

Logan clenched his eyes shut, thinking of Rogue, thinking of Jean, thinking of the dozens of children Striker forced out into the night.  Were they all suffering the same way he was?

Then, through the haze of pain, one last thought rang clearly in his head.

_The Professor...oh, Christ, it's the Professor...Jean, where are you?_


	4. Storm

Prologue 4:  
  
Storm braced herself against one wall as the attacks began, watching in horror as the children fell to the ground screaming. She forced herself to stay on her feet, despite the pain tearing through her.  
  
She looked back at the children, feeling their suffering more than her own. Each seemed to be writhing with their own power, as if their gifts were completely out of their control. Storm could feel the air around her stirring wildly, the charge of electricity at her fingertips and her typically controlled anger at the world suddenly fighting to be unleashed.  
  
No, was her only thought, trying to regain control of herself.  
  
But, she knew what was happening, and knew she was powerless to stop it.  
  
The Dark Cerebro had the Professor, and now the Professor had all of them.  
  
Before she collapsed, Storm could see Kurt disappearing and reappearing uncontrollably through the hall. His hands were folded, his eyes tightly closed as in prayer as his body was thrown between substance and nothingness.  
  
Storm slipped to the floor and closed her eyes, wind and electricity raging around her, and said a silent prayer for all of them. 


	5. Magneto and Mystique

Prologue 5:

            Through the dark tunnels of the compound, Magneto and Mystique made their way quickly to the Dark Cerebro.  Any soldiers Striker had left to guard the passages had been dealt with swiftly, and mercilessly.

            Mystique smiled proudly as she walked by Magneto's side.  She no longer bothered to disguise herself and took pleasure in watching Magneto use his power with the complete freedom he had been denied for months.

            As they approached the Dark Cerebro, they could hear the movements of the remaining guards, and Magneto looked over at her and put a finger to his lips.  Mystique had to repress a laugh as he raised one hand, almost playfully, towards the soldiers.

            She heard their panicked cries as the pins from nearly a dozen grenades were pulled out of place.  Mystique wrapped one hand around Magneto's arm for the moment before the small bombs began to explode.  He looked at her with a satisfied smile, and let the collection of pins fall noisily to their feet.

            They moved quickly around the corner, where they found a very familiar door.

            Magneto approached cautiously, while Mystique waited patiently behind him.

            Suddenly, she collapsed in pain and cried out.  Magneto spun quickly around and moved back toward her.

            Mystique was on her knees, holding her head in her hands.  Her body was morphing uncontrollably, the images of hundreds of people forcing her body into unnatural shapes.  She forced herself to look upward, her face changing so quickly from one person to another that she could barely see Magneto as she spoke.

            "Erik!" she managed to cry, "Hurry!"

            Magneto took a hesitant step back, almost unwilling to leave her in this state, but he knew the only way he could help her was to get to Charles.

            Their eyes locked for a moment, saying more in a single glance than could be said in a thousand comforting words, before Magneto turned away from her towards the Dark Cerebro's metal doors.

            The Dark Cerebro's doors screeched in protest as Magneto forced them open.  The cry of the aging metal was more difficult for him to hear than the cries of Striker's soldiers.

***

            At the same moment, the cries of millions of mutants around the world stopped.

***

            Magneto entered the room and looked at the familiar machine sadly.

            No illusion clouded his perception of the room as he entered.  He saw only what was truly there.  Charles sat at the edge of the lighted platform, wearing the machine's controlling helmet, completely oblivious to how close he had come to killing everyone he loved.

            About halfway between the entrance and Charles, there was another mutant in a wheelchair, though he looked much less dignified than the Professor.  He look worn, a wasted version of the powerful little boy that had first come to Charles's school.

            Magneto walked up to the mutant named Jason (whose father now 'affectionately' called him Mutant 143), regarding the boy's state sadly.  Jason's blank eyes glanced sideways as Magneto, who tapped the specialized helmet he wore with amusement.

            _Your father will soon pay for his crimes, child_, he thought and then turned his attention to Charles.  

            "What does it look like from there, Charles?"  Magneto asked quietly, knowing well Xavier could not hear him, "Still fighting the good fight?"

            Magneto looked around with disgust, "It doesn't look like they're playing by your rules.  Maybe it's time to play by their's..."

***

            Mystique collapsed forward as the agonizing pain quickly faded away.

            Her body had stopped morphing, and she found herself in a very unnatural condition.  After a few controlled breaths, she was able to refocus and mold her body back into its true shape.

            Her palms were flat against the floor, and she watched with quiet relief as the skin of her arms turned blue again, her strangely shaped hands becoming slender and more feminine.

            Mystique stood slowly and walked forward on slightly unsteady legs toward the entrance of the Dark Cerebro.  Magneto was standing at the edge of the long platform, speaking quietly to Professor Xavier.  

            "Goodbye, Charles," he said before turning back towards Mutant 143.

            Magneto gestured to Mystique, and she smiled coldly.  She walked slowly, but purposefully up to the wasted mutant that had been Jason Striker.  Her body quickly formed itself into the shape of his father and she leaned forward to whisper in his ear, her voice a perfect imitation of the General.

            "There's been a change of plans..."


	6. Deathstrike Awakens

Prologue 6:

            Magneto entered the dark chamber cautiously, with Mystique by his side.  The room was large and well kept, unlike the narrow, dingy hallways making up a majority of Striker's compound.  Magneto deplored the condition of the weakening metallic walls, their cracks and rusted edges aged by the water and pressure of the dam.  He would have never allowed such precious materials to become so worn and tired.  

            However, he could sense something else in the compound that was of much more interest than the dying steel surrounding him.  Something very rare, very precious, and very powerful.  That sense had drawn him to this very chamber and he held one hand in front of him, as if being led by some force out of his control.

            The room was a convergence of many tunnels, lined by high glass shelves and a wall of light.  On the wall, there were diagrams and x-rays, outlining the construction of a weapon...a mutant weapon.

            In the center of the chamber was a large, water-filled tub.  The equipment around it was dusty and old, and did not look like it had been used for a very long time.  Only one of the handheld sprayers lay askew and its tip had been clogged by a solid, shining metal.

            Magneto smiled serenely as he stared at the metal and walked toward the tub.  An empty sink of sorts crowned it, and the inside was lined with solid adamantium.

            _So this was where it was done,_ he thought, _Striker must have brought the Wolverine here...no wonder he left so quickly..._

            Holding his outstretched hand over the sink, Magneto focused his mind on the adamantium and drew it out.  The supposedly indestructible metal folded and rose under his influence, melting upward into his hand.  It hovered, forming a solid sphere about six inches in diameter.  Magneto smiled, genuinely pleased at his discovery and admiring it the way a jeweler may admire a rare stone.  He formed it, condensed it and grasped it out of the air.  Its weight was comforting in his hand and he caressed it once more before placing it in his pocket.

            Mystique watched Magneto with quiet awe and admiration.  She had not known happiness since his capture from Liberty Island and now, watching him enjoy his freedom and power again, she felt a calming sense of pride.  She smiled at him as he glanced over at her, and then she looked down into the tub, at the face that sparkled below the surface.

            Magneto moved to next to Mystique and gazed down at the dead woman sadly.  He recognized her then, as one of Striker's unwilling servants, forced to do his will by the horrid enzyme Striker had taken from his own son.

            "Poor child," he said quietly, "Maybe there is still time..."

            Mystique glanced slowly between him and the woman below and stepped back as Magneto again raised his hand.  The dead woman began to rise from the water, hanging heavily in the air, weighted by the solid adamantium that had been pumped into her body not ten minutes earlier.  Magneto looked at her with the care of a father and brushed back the wet hair from her face.  Her eyes were open, lines of hardened adamantium running from them like tears, and more from her mouth, formed and solid as if a moment frozen in time.

            Magneto wondered again, and frowned thoughtfully.  She was like the Wolverine, that much was obvious, he could feel the delicately fused plates covering her bones and knew it was her x-rays and information displayed on the wall of light.  However, he wondered if she also had the same mutation as the Wolverine, the ability to rapidly heal herself, even when she was close to death.

            Magneto focused his mind again on the adamantium, using his will to draw the excess metal out of the woman's body with care so not to disturb the original plating from Striker's experiment.  Her body seemed to expand, stretching her limbs to their limit, and after a moment, tiny beads of adamantium began to flow from her.  Carefully, almost lovingly, Magneto gathered the metal to him, forming a sphere as he had before.  The woman's body writhed and bled as the solid substance exited her like a mist from her eyes and her mouth, even from her pores.  

The exodus of metal ebbed and, finally, stopped all together, leaving Magneto with a sphere similar to the first.  Her attacker had not been frugal with the metal when they tried to kill her.

The woman's body hung limply now, still suspended by Magneto, but was significantly lighter without the extra adamantium.  She was bleeding from her eyes and mouth and stomach, though it was not running, her heart not beating.  Magneto did not move, waiting patiently to test his theory about the woman's mutation.  

After a few minutes, one hand twitched as it hung at her side.  Magneto smiled, almost wickedly, and moved the woman's body carefully to a lab table not far away.  Both he and Mystique moved toward it, never taking their eyes from the stirring mutant.

The woman's body twitched again, as if struggling against nature to come back to life.  Her hands began to clench and unclench with the sound of metallic cracking.  The blood that stained her face was being slowly drawn back into her, and the wound in her abdomen was growing smaller.  Magneto was pleased.

The body healed with a slow uncertainty, as if it did not trust the world around her to allow her to heal.  After no additional attacks came, the wounds closed fully and left no scars.  

The woman lay motionless, and Magneto could just make out her shallow, slow breaths.  With one hand, he touched her neck at an artery to confirm the pulse and smiled up at Mystique, who nodded approvingly.  

Suddenly, with terrifying speed, one of the woman's arms shot up and, from her outstretched fingers, blades of adamantium moved to claw Magneto's face.  Mystique jumped back in surprise, but Magneto did not so much as flinch, even as the claws stopped cold less than two inches from his skin.

He looked down, and saw that the mutant's eyes were open wide and she struggled to move against his unseen hold on her.  Her eyes were hazel, almost green, and filled with a mix of fear and undisguised hatred.

Magneto stroked her head comfortingly, and the pleased smile never left his face.

"Quiet now, my child," he said softly, though not warmly, "We are not your enemies."

The woman glared up at them, and slowly stopped her losing battle to move.  Her eyes darted between the tall man and the blue woman with angry confusion, but she did not speak.

Magneto took her outstretched, clawed hand carefully, forcing the blades to retract so that he could hold it properly.  The woman just watched him with silent suspicion.  

"We are your Brothers," he continued, "We are mutants.  And our enemies are elsewhere in this compound, Striker being only one among many.  His small mind may have created you, but he could never truly understand you.  He could never truly control you.  Not without the aid of his mutant son.  He used you, child, used you for far too long and, if you would like, you can help us destroy him...and those like him.  Those who would use mutants like animals, who would try to control us."

The woman held Magneto's gaze as he spoke, her expression losing its fury as a new wonder rose in it.  Mystique smiled behind Magneto, recognizing the look on the mutant's face.  She would be an excellent addition to the Brotherhood.

The woman swallowed hard against her dry throat and mouthed one word.

"Speak, child," Magneto encouraged, "Speak and be heard."

"Wol...wolv..." she struggled and finally cried out, "Wolverine!  Where is the Wolverine?!"

Magneto closed his eyes, sensing out Wolverine's own metallic skeleton.

"Why..." he said, with mock astonishment, "He is with Striker.  They are outside, near his helicopter."

The woman's eyes flashed with fury.

"Enemies!" she coughed, fresh trickles of blood running down her torn throat, "Both!  I'll kill them both!"

"Yes," Magneto replied, "Perhaps you will."

Just then, the dam around them groaned from the strain of the coming flood.  Magneto regarded the old metal walls sadly.

"But not today," he said with clear disappointment.

The woman gritted her teeth and began to struggle again.  Magneto once again stroked her dark, smooth hair.

"Enough, child," he chided, "Save the anger for another day.  For your enemies are now _our_ enemies, and your strength with become _our_ strength.  Come with us, and I will show you _our_ future..."

The woman stared up at him again, considering his offer.  The dam groaned again, and droplets of water began to fall around them.  Neither Magneto nor Mystique seemed concerned.

The woman held Magneto's gaze, steady and unblinking.

"Show me," she said finally and felt her body released from Magneto's power.  She sat up slowly and flexed her hands, with the same metallic cracking.  Magneto smiled, darkly, and the woman smiled back, eyes flashing like steel.

They left the room quickly behind then, and within minutes, the weak walls were washed away, taking the past, and all its answers, with them.


	7. Striker

Prologue 7:

            General William Striker sat on the ground in a cloud of pain, understanding with some finality that his years of careful planning and his brilliant, unstoppable attack had failed.

            Not only failed, but had somehow been reversed, and he was now feeling the powerful force of Xavier's mind tearing his own apart.  And he knew he was not the only one who would feel the effects.  He had planned to destroy every living mutant, at the hand of one of their own, and end the problem once and for all.  He would save the human race from the worst danger it had ever faced.

            Now, the human race itself was being destroyed, by his own machinations.

            _No_, he thought, _This__ can't be happening...it's impossible...it's..._

            "Ah, General Striker," a voice said.  Through his pain, Striker thought he must have been having a nightmare.  Erik Lensherr, the mutant known at Magneto, whom Striker had kept so securely under his control for so long, was now marching toward him across the snow.  And he was not alone.  

            Behind him, stood the blue shapeshifter known as Mystique...and a very aware and angry Lady Deathstrike.

            "Funny, how we keep running into each other," Magneto said, and Striker struggled to stay conscious as the pleasant smile faded from the mutant's face.

            "Mark my words...it will _never happen again._"

            Striker felt the metal chains holding him to the leg of his helicopter wrap tightly around his neck.  Magneto allowed the suffering man to choke for a few minutes before allowing the chain to fall slack.

            Magneto stood up and turned back to his companions, the polite and satisfied smile returning to his face.  

            "Bring the General along, would you my dear?" he said to Deathstrike, "I think he deserves to watch the end of his world, don't you?"

            Mystique smiled as the younger woman grabbed the General roughly by the binding chains and drug him across the snow.  Striker was writhing in the pain, and Mystique felt a little justice for Erik's months of captivity, a price paid by all human beings.

            Magneto led them to a clearing, and used the chains to secure Striker violently to a ruined cement wall.  The links crawled along the man's body like snakes until they were stretched tightly across his legs and his chest and his face.

            "Welcome to the new world, William," Magneto said viciously, "I hope, in your last minutes, you appreciate your part in creating it."

***

Suddenly, the General's body went slack, and the rolling waves of pain stopped.           He was breathing, still breathing, and he concentrated on simply bringing air in and out of his lungs.  The chains were ice cold, and burned against his skin.  As his vision cleared, he met Magneto's gaze again.

            They both knew that by some means the attacks had stopped, and the enemies both stood in victory and in loss.

            Without another word, the three mutants left the General to die, knowing Alkalai Lake was about to be unleashed.

***

            However, another being stood in the wilderness, and had other plans for the ruined man.  


	8. Pryo

Prologue 8:

            John Allerdyce looked across the snow covered clearing cautiously.  The icy air stirred up by the helicopter's blades whipped past his face, and he squinted slightly.

            From where he stood, he could only vaguely see the two figures sitting at the helicopter's controls, but he had no doubt who they were.

            John had been trying to find his way back to the X-Jet after the attacks, walking away from the charred circle in the forest where he had collapsed in pain.  

Then, he had heard someone shouting.  He followed the noise until it faded away and was replaced by the sound of helicopter's engine.

            At the edge of the trees, he saw Mystique, Magneto and a third mutant he did not recognize climbing aboard and he stood and watched them silently.  He had been thinking about them a lot, thinking about what Magneto had said to him on the jet.  A god among insects...John wondered exactly what Magneto had meant by that.  No one at Xavier's School had ever defined being a mutant like that.

            But, he was no god.  Shouldn't a god be able to create instead of just control?  What kind of fire god is helpless without a match?  He would be better off as an insect.  Even fireflies can turn their own asses on.

            Yet, there had been no doubt in Magneto's face as he spoke.  None of Cyclops's caution or Storm's temperance...none of the Professor's pity.

            Only that confidence, that belief that, despite how the rest of the world viewed them, mutants were better...more than human, closer to gods than men.

            A small smile touched John's face and he stood and took a few steps into the clearing.  The helicopter had not moved, and the three figures inside waited patiently for the boy to make his decision.

            After a moment, John continued toward them, without a thought of looking back.

***      

Magneto looked over at Mystique and smiled, though the warmth on his face did not touch his eyes.

            "Open the door," he said, his voice quiet but hard as steel, "Time to bring another Brother home..."        


	9. Scott

Prologue 9:

            "Where's Jean?" Logan said urgently, suddenly noticing that she no longer stood at the back of the jet.  Almost instinctively, everyone looked toward the professor for an answer.

            Xavier's eyes were hazy and sad.  Outwardly, he looked solemn and composed but his mind was still reeling at what had happened in the Dark Cerebro.  He had almost killed billions of people and his conscience was tearing him apart with guilt.  

            Now, as his mind tried to link with Jean, he realized he was about to watch one of his students die...and he was helpless to stop it.  All his power, and there was nothing he could do.

            "She's outside," he said softly, before he closed his eyes.

            Before anyone else could react, Scott lunged towards the back of the jet.  The ramp was still open, and he could see Jean's small footprints in the snow.  

            As he approached, the ramp began to rise.

            _No...No, Jean...stop!_ he thought loudly, hoping she would hear him, but the only reply he received was the loud clang as the ramp closed.  

            "_Open it!_" he screamed to Storm, digging his fingers into the back wall through his gloves.  He suddenly wished he had Logan claws to tear his way out.

            "_She's controlling the jet_!" he heard Storm call back.  Scott drove a fist into the wall and rushed back to the front console.  He slammed down into the co-pilot's seat and began pounding on the controls.  He would make that ramp open.  There was no way he would allow Jean to die without a fight.

            Vaguely, he heard Logan tell the new mutant (he thought Storm had called him Kurt) to try and teleport Jean back into the jet. 

            "She won't let me," Kurt said with distress, gripping his rosary tightly.

            Scott ground his teeth together.  Logan, what the hell was Logan asking the teleporter for?  Why didn't he just tear apart the back wall like Scott had wanted to do?

            He paused, and frowned, his brow furrowing against his visor.

            _If I can't rip the back apart...I'll blow it apart_, he thought.

            "I know what I'm doing..." he suddenly heard the professor say, "This is the only way."

            Scott froze.  Those were not the professor's words.

            _Scott, _he suddenly heard in his mind, Jean's soft voice filled with so much sadness, so much love.

            Moving quickly out of his chair, Scott knelt before the professor, whose eyes were closed as Jean spoke through him.

            "Jean..." he began, his voice breaking, "Jean...don't do this..."

            _I love you..._ he heard in him mind and at the same moment the professor spoke again.

            "Goodbye."

            Scott choked and turned away.

            _No...No..._ he thought, waves of rage and sorrow rolling through him.  He could not move, overwhelmed by loss.  He searched the faces of the others for help.  Someone had to be able to save her.  They were the X-Men, for God's sake.  They were trained for this, trained to be strong.  Why couldn't they _do_ anything?

            Beneath him, the jet began to rise from the ground.  Scott could hear the water roaring around them.  He wanted so much to look out and see Jean, his love, his wife, one last time.  

            But he knew he would not see the blue water.  He would only see in red, as he stared through the ruby quartz in his visor.  The water would be red, red as blood, and Jean's would spilled to save them.  He looked upward, and stared at a red sky as the jet rose above the raging flood.  

            After a few moments, he heard someone sob.  He would never be sure who exactly it was, but the sound brought him painfully back into reality.

            Around him, everyone sat in cold shock, and Logan was the first to speak.

            "She's gone."


	10. Rogue

Prologue 10:

            Rogue sat in numb shock as the X-Jet continued away from Alkalai Lake.  Everything was wrong, nothing made sense.  She had not felt so lost since she was first leaving her family's home, when she knew no one and had nothing.  Suddenly, her world was shattered again.

            From where she sat, Rogue could see Cyclops sitting in the co-pilot's seat of the jet.  He was calm, composed and completely focused on getting them home.  No Scott…Cyclops.

            Scott had fallen to the ground and wept in the moments after Jean died.  Moments that lasted unbearable ages for the other X-Men, until Scott finally stood up.  By the time, he made it to the controls next to Storm, all his tears had stopped, and Cyclops forced the pain away.  He had the rest of his life to weep.  Right now, he needed to get the Professor to Washington, DC.  

            Cyclops was their captain, second in command only to Charles Xavier, and the immediate fate of their kind took precedence over his emotions.

            Rogue glanced to the right with an effort, looking over at Logan who was standing solidly by the Professor's chair.  His fists were clenched, like he were preparing to attack someone, maybe to take revenge for the loss of Jean Grey, but there was no one left alive to blame for her death.

            She remembered what his mind was like, from when she had touched him before, and she could understand what he must be feeling.  Rage, she knew, and injustice…and defeat.  Logan was a soldier, and before finding Rogue that fateful day in the Canadian wilderness, his battles had always been his own.  Now, he had known friends, allies, compatriots…and he had not been prepared for the loss of one of them.

            After so many decades of fighting, he would finally have to face the real pain of war.  He would have to remember how to mourn.

            A strong grip formed around her hand, and Rogue looked back at Bobby Drake.  His eyes were pained, but confident.  He had also suffered loss, but he did not look defeated.  First, his family, then his friend to Magneto, now a teacher whom he admired and respected, all lost in less than a day.  Yet, he remained so sure, so certain of what needed to be done next.  He looked ready to stand as one of the X-Men.

            Rogue smiled at him, though she was crying.

_            Shouldn't someone who makes ice be colder inside?_ she thought.

            But there was no coldness in his face, no doubt.  Even as they lay in pain during the attacks, Bobby had automatically reached for her, taken her hand, as if her suffering were more painful than his own.

            Rogue wondered if her eyes looked as worn and tired as Bobby's now did.  She wondered if he felt as aged as she did right now.

_            Shit…_ she thought, _I think we just grew up.  We were children this morning, hesitantly kissing after escaping to Bobby's house.  Now, we're different.  The kids are looking at us like they look at Storm or Cyclops, like we have all the answers.  Oh, God, I don't have the answers…_

            Rogue squeezed Bobby's hand in return and she saw him smile.  It was not a child's expression.  It was not innocent anymore.

            Rogue leaned her head back and closed her eyes, listening to all the memories in her mind.  They were not her own, but those of people she had touched.  

            A violent experiment from Logan…

            Playing video games with Ronny from Bobby…

            A little boy running from the Nazis from Magneto…

            She shivered.  She had hated the constant presence of others in her mind.

            She only wished she had touched Jean once.  So she could have held onto some of her memories.  Then maybe Jean would not now be totally lost…

            "Holy Mary…Mother of God…"

            Rogue listened to the new mutant pray from the back of the jet.

            "…Pray for us sinners…"

_            Yes,_ Rogue thought, _Pray for us, Mary.  Because I'm not sure there are many other's who will._


	11. Striker's Vow

Prologue 11:

            General William Striker hung limply from the cement wall in bitter defeat.  He did not feel the cold chains wrapped around his body and face anymore as a strange numbness ran through him.  He supposed it was the beginning of hypothermia, but considering he was about to drown under Alkalai Lake's waters, it did not really seem to matter.

            His plans had failed.  He had sacrificed everything to his intended end, his career, his soldiers, his son, and mutants still walked the face of the earth.

            He knew this because he had come face to face with quite a few in his last moments.  First, Magneto and his followers, and then the Wolverine had found him.

            A single dog tag and chain lay glittering in the snow beneath him.  The signature of his brilliant experiment discarded among the ruined waste of his base.

            Before Wolverine had walked away, Striker made one final vow to him and every mutant freak in the world.

            "Someday!" he cried, "Someone will continue what I started here, Wolverine!  Someday!"

            The air was cold and biting as he breathed.  Any part of his body that was not numb was burning with pain.  The flesh of his face was sticking to the cold chains, and he closed his eyes.

            "Someday..." he whispered, "Someday...someone will destroy you all..."

            "And why can't it be you?" a strange voice suddenly said.

            Striker opened his eyes painfully, a gaped at the figure before him.

            A man in a black coat stood before him, smiling politely.  He was tall and pale, as if he had not stood in the sunlight for many years.  He wore a simple wool hat and held a plain black cane.

            Despite the bitter chill and impending flood, the man looked quite calm.  He could have been strolling through a park, taking in the morning air.  He most certainly was out of place in an empty wasteland with nothing around for miles except the underground base.

            Striker tried to speak, but his throat locked and he struggled again to breathe.

            "Who…" he coughed, "Who…"

            The stranger looked at him with a feigned pity that hid a cold disgust.

            "Tell me, General," the strange man continued, "_Why can't it be you?_"

            The man took slow, deliberate steps towards Striker as he spoke and the General had no choice but to listen.

            "Do you think you have lost?" the man asked, "Do you think all your work has been in vain?  Well, what if I told you that you need not die today.  What if I told you, your work could go on…"

            As the man approached, Striker felt the chill around him grow.  It was impossible, but the frigid air was getting colder.

            "I have a proposal for you, General," the man said, "A way for you to continue your fight to wipe all of those unnatural creatures from this world, and ensure the preservation of the human race."

            Striker held the man's gaze as he closed in.  The man's eyes had no real color, just the same dark black color as his clothes.  Striker shivered again, but listened to the man's words intently.

            "What happened to humanity today was not _your_ fault, William," he continued, "This was the work of mutants.  That mutant Xavier and your mutant son.  They _waited until you thought you were safe and then, they turned on you.  __They betrayed you.  _Your own son…_"_

            _Yes, Striker thought, any shred of guilt he may have held about the attacked on humanity disappearing, _It was THEIR FAULT.  Those mutants…it's all THEIR FAULT…__

            "That's right, William," the man said, "They are the cause of humanity's pain.  And I'm offering you the chance to see your dreams fulfilled.  You will have the power to change the world.  Remember, _they think your __dead.  The Wolverine __saw you bound, and he knows of the coming flood.  I will give you the chance for revenge.  And, I promise, you would have resources at your disposal that you have never imagined…"_

            Striker's eyes widened as the stranger spoke.  The loss he felt now changed into a vicious rage.  He would show them, every single mutant…he would make them pay.

            "And, I only ask one thing in return…" the man said calmly.  He pondered a moment on his next words, but he could tell by the look on Striker's face that the General would agree to his terms.

            "Give me what I want…" the man began, "…and I'll give you what you want.  Agreed?"

            From a short distance away, Striker heard the dam crumble, and the rush of water that flowed toward them.  He glanced upward, knowing he would not be able to see the water until it was upon them, and then look back at the stranger with panic.

            The man stood calmly, even as the tide broke against the cement wall.  Striker tried to scream and it took a few moments for him to realize that the water had parted around them.  On either side of him, the waters of Alkalai Lake flowed violently forward, and joined again behind the stranger.

            "Choose quickly, William," the stranger said, somehow making himself heard over the torrent, "The water will not be held back for long…"

            Striker glanced around in awe and fear.  He looked down at the stranger and tried to speak.  The man gave the General an impatient and vicious glare, all his previous civility gone.  

            "Yes…" Striker finally managed, "Yes...whatever you want…"

            The stranger grinned broadly, though it was not a pleasant expression.

            "Excellent…" he said, "Very well, General.  You have made a wise decision.  And, unlike Mr. Lensherr, I look forward to seeing you again…"

            The man's voice faded away as Striker felt himself slipping again into unconsciousness.

            "Just remember…the debt will need to be paid…"


	12. Jean

Prologue 12:

            Jean Grey stood behind the X-Jet and forcibly closed the door.

            The world around her was alive, moving and she could feel everything.

            Every tree, dormant under the winter snow...every living animal, moving as quickly as they could away from the oncoming flood...every piece of ice striking her hands and face in the bitter wind...

            Everyone who had been in pain.  Every person, human and mutant, in fear of what had happened less than a half hour before.  Every life they had just saved...

            The ground was beginning to tremble beneath her feet.  The living earth rolling in protest against the coming flood.  All life around her was being washed away...

            The dam had broken and the waters of Alkali Lake were spilling towards herself and the others.  She knew they were trying to stop her, get her back into the jet, so she focused quickly to disable their powers.  There would be no permanent harm, and they would regain control...when she was gone...

            Jean could feel their panic when they realized what she was planning to do.  She felt their anger, their determination to save her...she was glad she would not be here to feel their tears.

            The water was close now.  _God, it was so alive._  Why hadn't she ever noticed before?

            Alive...life...lives, all around the world people could keep living...because of those people on that jet...

            Her friends...her family.  Nothing else in the world matters except them.

            And she did not intend to let them die.

            Jean reached backward with one hand and focused on the X-Jet.  It was so light, so easy to bring it to life again.  She could feel heat in her hands...

            The roaring tidal wave came into view and Jean reached out with her other hand and forced the waters to stop, to flow around the jet.  This was harder, so much life in the waves, so much life that was causing so much destruction.

            The flames leapt from her fingertips.  But it was so much more than fire.  A power from within, a power from all around her..._God, it was so alive..._

            Jean turned back towards the jet and lifted it from the ground.  

            The minds of every person on board were focused on her.

            The children, her students, sitting in confusion and terror.

            Storm, trying desperately to regain control, her composure lost in fear for her friend.

            Logan, his anger at his own helplessness, as he tried to fight his way to her.

            The Professor, sitting in stony silence, understanding he was about to watch another of his students die.

            Scott...he was the hardest to hear.  He was in a frenzy, raging and weeping, refusing to accept the fact that his lover was about to die.

            His lover...his love...his wife.

_            Oh God, Scott, I didn't want to feel your tears..._

            So she spoke, using the Professor without resistance.

            "I know what I'm doing," she said.        

_            Jean..._ she felt Scott reply, _Jean...don't do this..._

            "Good bye..."

            Jean closed her mind then, closed herself to every thought and emotion.

            She no longer heard the people behind her, no longer felt her own sorrow or pain.

            There was nothing except the power, the flame.  The water stood before her, struggling against her will.  

            She smiled, savoring the feeling of its life as she prepared to give up her own.

            Life...energy with a purpose, power without malice or pride.  

            Power in simply being..._the power just to be whatever fate or nature or God meant it to be..._

            The jet was gone, her family was safe.  Life could go on.

            Jean lowered her arms, her body glowing with power, her eyes filled with flames.

            Why wasn't she afraid?  She should be afraid.  She had been afraid her whole life, so why not now?

            Maybe she was past fear, maybe it did not matter anymore.  

            She had done what she meant to do, and it was time to go.

            Death suddenly wasn't so hard to accept.  It was a part of life, after all.

            And death suddenly didn't seem like an end.  Not with so much life around her.

            Her power would become one with the power around her, the power in everyone. 

            She only needed to spread her wings and......


	13. Author's Note

Author's note:

End of prologue (or the _rehash_ if you will   :-)

To Reviewer Lampetia:  Thanks for the encouragement!  I hope to update next stories just as often as I have been!

***

Only a few minor changes from X2 in the prologue.  (Haha!  Through the miracle of fan fic, no one is dead!)  Hope now I can get down to the real stories.  I'm laying them out in episodes so I hope to continue to update regularly.  And please review, good or bad, I don't care.

KathLeen


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